


knows everybody's disapproval

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Fantasizing, Hate Sex Except it's Masturbation, It's VERY complicated, Love/Hate, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18643594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: i should have worshipedhersoonerHe's got the full contentment that comes after a good orgasm, and sleep crowding at his eyelids, and Jon settling into his head like he belongs there. He guesses that's just his constant these days, too.Martin's not the only one who gets off to the thought of Jonathan Sims.





	knows everybody's disapproval

He blames it on the bloody compulsion.

Probably, he knows that that _isn’t how it works,_ Jon’s _powers,_ but he needs an excuse and Tim’s so goddamn tired of Jonathan Sims, and the man’s innate ability to be _in mind_ even when all Tim wants to do is _forget._

He’s not even given the time to relax at home. Jon’s voice follows him from work– _“Tim, do this, Tim, do that.”_ Not that Jon’s ever said it like that– not that he would say it these days, either, he’s a lot more meek, _subdued,_ Tim guesses, these days– it still whips around in his head and doesn’t let him sleep. Like now. Like right now, at twelve-thirty, and he really wishes it _wouldn’t,_ because Tim really, _really_ needs to get some sleep.

He’d walked in on Jon doing a recording today. Rare enough, that. Jon tended to do most of his archive work _away_ from the archives these days. He’d stopped, mid-sentence, looked up at Tim, and just… asked what he’d needed. Tim hadn’t even gotten a _look._ The mildly reproachful one he used to get for interrupting a recording. _Subdued._

Tim almost _misses_ the old Jon, which is _really_ agitating because he hadn’t thought he’d _liked_ the old Jon. Don’t know what you have until it’s gone, and all that. But yeah. Sort of. Maybe. Not the _paranoid_ Jon, that Jon could go fuck himself, but… whatever. _Whatever._

Forget about Jon and his goddamn tape recorder. Go to sleep, Tim.

Except he can’t. The Institute and its control just won’t let him go. _Jon_ won’t let him go, because it’s sodding Jon, not the archives at all, and it’s that damn _compulsion_ that keeps him wandering through his head. It has to be, even if that isn’t how. it. works. Seriously, he needs to sleep. He’s so far gone he’s entertaining sleeping pills; God knows he’d relied on _those_ too heavily after the Prentiss attack. Back when _that_ was the only spooky thing keeping him up at night.

He can practically _feel_ Jon’s imagined look of disdain for that word. _Spooky._ Like their lives _weren’t_ spooky. Scary.

Tim sighs. He wants to strangle something. His pillow. Jon. Himself. He’s frustrated. He’s only ever frustrated these days. It’s just, hello, he has a damn good reason. And if it hadn’t been for Jon _asking_ him to work in the archives what felt like _ages_ ago now, he wouldn’t be where he is at _all._ That continues to gnaw at him. This is, again, _ever,_ Jon’s fault.

The annoyance prickles at his skin. Crawls over him like those _worms–_ and he promptly shuts that down, because he _really_ needs to sleep, eventually. But he’s too keyed up anyway. Too much in his head, too much restless energy in his body. He squirms in the blankets until he’s able to kick the sheet off one leg. The cool in the dark room feels heavenly. He’s too hot, and annoyed. Tired but awake, but not actually awake enough to want to _do_ anything. Not that he has anything he wants to do. He definitely _does not_ want to go to the Institute at one in the morning to work.

Something else… something else… right. Tossing off it is. Maybe an orgasm will knock him right out and, with any luck, he won’t still be completely wrecked come morning. Or he will. Or maybe he just won’t go in. Elias’s threats aside, what is he going to do about a one-day absence? And Tim is… caring less and less about it these days, anyway.

Elias is a murderer, they’re chained to the Institute by threat of harm or death, Danny is undoubtedly gone, and Jon’s presence is just as infuriating as ever. He’s got nothing to lose. But having it off sounds nice.

He thumbs down his waistband enough to get his hand around his cock, and then settles in with the long list of mental porn he keeps stashed away for times like this. He doesn't waffle over what he enjoys. He’s not ashamed of it, either, not like to turn to a bit of a blubbery mess when someone brings up the idea of a bit of exhibitionism here, some bondage there. He’s had experiences; that asides, he’s got good wifi. If his cock reacts to the mental sound of a riding crop hitting flesh or an image of blindfolds and gags, that’s just fine.

Tim thinks Jon would benefit from a gag. Something to finally stop the lectures, the _questions–_ the ones where Jon can compel him to say what exactly he’s beat off to the night prior. Tim thinks Jon would look good, _better,_ even, with a strip of fabric between his teeth to finally shut his goddamn mouth. The gag could even complement the silver in his hair, sapphire blue silk, for when Tim ties it around his head, tight, to keep in place. How very satisfying it would be to wrench Jon away from his compulsion and his tape recorders, and render his voice completely and utterly useless.

Actually, same with Elias, but he really does _not_ want to think about Elias with his hand wrapped around his dick.

Not that he wants to think of Jon, either, but then, he never wants to think of Jon. He's always there regardless, even when he's not at the Institute to begin with. A month of him being apparently held _hostage?_ Good that Elias hadn't told them, but it had been normal in retrospect and… relaxing. Then he'd walked into him in the hall that morning he'd come back with a few scrapes and fire in his eyes, and Tim had only been able to stare.

Jon's a bit beautiful, much as he'll never say to his face.

He's properly hard by now, able to smear his thumb over his slit for the clear droplets collected there, eager to put that thumb to his mouth to lick it clean. He absolutely does not think of Jon's stupid mouth doing that– not that he thinks Jon's interested in sex as a whole, although surely he's fucked that Georgie woman, _surely–_ but he doesn't want to think about Georgie whatever-her-name-is. Although it's probably safer, maybe even more lucrative than thinking of Jonathan Sims.

But it's a lost cause. So much is, these days. Tim catches a thumbnail over his nipple and presses down, jerking back into his hand with an intensity he never seems to find in any other way.

He gasps through his orgasm a few seconds later, coming in hard, prolonged pulses that shake him from inside out. He keeps stroking his cock until he’s completely wrung out, then sags back onto the bed, hot and even more sweaty than he'd been prior. It takes a few deep breaths before he can force himself to roll over to snatch a few tissues from the box on his nightstand to clean himself up with.

The lethargy's a promise for dropping off at last, however long he manages to stay asleep. He's got the full contentment that comes after a good orgasm, and sleep crowding at his eyelids, and Jon settling into his head like he belongs there. He guesses that's just his constant these days, too.

He knows there's something to it, probably. He's not an idiot. The idea of smoothing his fingers along a strip of silk is rivalled by thoughts of his mouth against Jon's, but he doesn't linger on those fantasies. Those are even more dangerous than jerking off to the thought of his boss. Because Jon _is_ an idiot. If he can't figure out _Martin–_ who prances and paws after Jon like he's ready to hand over his whole goddamn soul in exchange for any scrap of a vaguely more than platonic gesture– well, God knows he'll never figure Tim out, and Tim thinks he's fine with that.

If he wants anything to come from those fantasies, _he'll_ have to make the first move. That isn't going to happen, so those fantasies stay fantasies, and he tells the Jon stuck in his head to fuck off instead. It's easier.

Besides, the world's probably going to end or something, anyway. None of it matters. Even the part about getting off because of his boss. Especially not that.

Tim puffs a short breath into his pillowcase, and rolls to curl onto his side for sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I could write wholesome Jon/Martin ~~I mean I do~~ I could write manipulative Jon/Elias ~~Elias gets _tingles_ when he's compelled, cmon~~ Even that past Jon/Georgie is so _good_ but here I am with Jon/Tim instead. Unrequited Jon/Tim with basically hate masturbation ~~hate that might actually be something more, but both he and Jon would be too stubborn to admit it~~


End file.
